


Restraint

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aramis Doesn't Have the Words, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porthos Is Beautiful, Skipping Rope/Jump Rope Kink, So Is Athos, Spoilers through to 1x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aramis and Athos objectify Porthos, d'Artagnan gets tangled in rope, and Aramis ties Porthos up for his own good.</p><p>Or: Aramis has a skipping rope kink, Athos is drawn to Porthos (and they look amazing together), and Aramis comforts Porthos with sex instead of words.</p><p>The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Set before, during, and after 1x03 (Commodities). 
> 
> I'll be really interested to find out if anyone shares my thing for skipping (jumping rope)!

Aramis strode towards the garrison. It had been a long night; the lady had been interestingly demanding. Her taste still filled his mouth. He smiled and smoothed his beard as he turned onto Rue du Vieux-Colombier. A familiar sound from the garrison -- a rope whipping through the air, fast and repeated -- put an extra spring in his step.

He turned into the archway and halted abruptly to avoid slamming into d'Artagnan. Aramis took in the scene -- Porthos, barefoot and shirtless, skipping with a rope; d'Artagnan frozen and open-mouthed. He clapped d'Artagnan on the back.

"Haven't you seen a man skip before?" he asked.

He breathed in the garrison's early morning smell, mainly horse and unwashed cadet, and focused on Porthos. Porthos had wrapped the rope around his hands to shorten it and span it fast, jumping lightly from foot to foot. Sweat ran down his pectorals and added a sheen to his exquisite musculature. Aramis circled the courtyard, licking his lips, his gaze fixed on Porthos.

D'Artagnan laughed. "I've seen the little Dutch girls at the Halle skipping. Do you play with dolls as well, Porthos?"

"I would if it helped me fight," Porthos said.

He shifted into a double-footed bounce, skimming the rope under his feet twice per jump. Aramis reached the stairs behind him and leaned against the balustrade, admiring the play of muscles across Porthos's back. Glorious. 

"It's harder than it looks," Athos said.

Aramis jumped. _Athos?_ He dragged his concentration away from Porthos, contrite, hoping Captain Treville hadn't seen. A Musketeer could get himself killed by not paying attention to his surroundings, and an inattentive Musketeer spotted by Treville would find himself mucking out the stables.

Athos, lounging against a wooden column to Porthos's right, picked up a coil of rope and pitched it at d'Artagnan.

"Why don't you try?" Athos said.

D'Artagnan unlooped the rope and swung it in front of him, his expression unsure. Porthos slowed down to a relaxed jog.

"Start slowly," he said, his voice low. Aramis's breath quickened. "It takes a while to get used to it. It's best to ease in, get the rhythm right before speeding up."

_Such good advice, in so many situations._

Athos's lips quirked, drawing Aramis's attention. Athos was watching Porthos intently, his eyes shining. Porthos, shoulders straight and head high, revelled in it. The scars on his back flexed as he moved. They didn't mar his beauty; instead, the flaws highlighted his perfection.

Aramis shivered. He traced an imaginary line of kisses across Porthos's shoulders and down his spine. He wondered if Athos's thoughts mirrored his own. 

"Are you just gonna watch?" Porthos growled. The hairs on Aramis's nape raised. 

D'Artagnan, oblivious to the sexual tension, stepped over his rope, testing its length. He swung and mistimed his jump. The rope slapped into his ankles. He swore, shook out the rope, and tried again, jumping higher. The rope caught his boots and tripped him.

"This is impossible."

Aramis unbuckled his belts and unbuttoned his coat. He stalked towards d'Artagnan, shedding the coat and throwing it aside.

"Not impossible," he said. "Merely difficult. You need concentration and coordination." He took the rope and put both ends in his right hand. "Here, start like this." He swung the rope to his side, one-handed, and jumped with it, feet in the air every time the rope thwacked the ground. "Once you're used to the beat..." he switched one end of the rope to his left hand and sped up, dancing through the rope's blur, "...you'll be ready to begin."

He gave d'Artagnan his best cocky smile, handed back the rope, and turned to Porthos. Porthos grinned and twisted his wrists, unwinding the rope around his hands to lengthen it. Aramis took off his hat. He tapped his foot in time with the rope's swing. He matched his breathing to Porthos's and surrendered to his lover's rhythm, as he had done, so often, in less public circumstances. He tensed to step under the rope.

"Allow me," Athos said.

Aramis held back.

Athos prowled into the middle of the courtyard. He'd stripped down to match Porthos: he wore only khaki breeches, their gleaming brass buttons pulling Aramis's gaze to his groin, and the long-chained locket he never took off. Aramis huffed out a breath. Porthos's eyes widened. Athos jumped into the rope's arc, his back to Porthos. Porthos kept the pace slow for the first half-dozen strokes, letting Athos acclimatise. Athos's hair bobbed. His locket bounced against his chest. Porthos accelerated into a gallop. The two men didn't touch. They didn't need to. Every swing of the rope, every shared beat, shaped an intimate link between them. 

Porthos put his head back and laughed in unrestrained delight. Athos lit up the garrison with one of his rare smiles. 

Aramis put his arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders, leant into the younger man, and savoured the display in silence. His pulse raced. He promised himself Porthos half-naked and tied up before the end of the day.

# # #

He changed his promise later.

Porthos lay, half-naked and knocked out on a table, an axe wound rending his shoulder. Aramis pushed a needle through his friend's skin and promised he would take better care of Porthos, if only he lived. 

Later still, when he had to re-stitch the wound after Porthos tore it open, he amended the promise again. Revenge first, then care.

# # #

Revenge turned out to be the easy part. Care was harder.

"Let me," Aramis said as Porthos attempted to undo the first of his belts, sucking in a pained breath when he twisted his right shoulder. They'd gone back to Porthos's apartment. A brazier scented the room with charcoal smoke and kept away the chill. 

"I can manage," Porthos said.

Aramis placed both his hands flat on Porthos's chest and looked up into Porthos's eyes. "I'm sure you can, my friend, but it would give me pleasure to undress you."

Porthos narrowed his eyes. Aramis widened his, tilting his head and parting his lips. 

"Please," Aramis said. 

Porthos relented, grumbling. Aramis stopped his complaints with a feather-light kiss and a brief touch of his tongue to Porthos's bottom lip. 

"You taste of rum," he said, pulling away and working at Porthos's buckles. Porthos tensed and Aramis cursed himself, sensing Bonnaire's presence in Porthos's thoughts. He folded back the scaled and studded collar of Porthos's doublet and licked a stripe up his neck, hoping to atone. Porthos breathed out a quiet moan. 

_Tongue, then. And no speaking. I don't have the right words today._

Aramis opened Porthos's doublet, lapping his tongue along each inch of revealed skin in the open vee of his shirt. He eased the leather gently off Porthos's shoulders, untucked the bloodstained shirt, and bent to run his lips across Porthos's stomach, just above his waistband. Aramis's tongue teased down behind the leather of Porthos's breeches and under his linens. 

Porthos swayed and gripped Aramis's head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard.

_You need to lie down, my friend, before you fall down._

Aramis whisked Porthos's shirt off, unbuttoned his breeches and unlaced his linens. Porthos thrust his hips forward to press his cock, already half hard, into Aramis's hand. Aramis squeezed, then pulled back, steered Porthos to the bed and guided him down to lie on his front. He took off Porthos's boots and stood back to admire him shirtless and barefoot. His cock throbbed as he remembered Porthos and Athos at the beginning of the week, rope skipping in the garrison courtyard. 

"Are you just gonna watch?" Porthos said, a tired smile in his voice.

_You always do know what I'm thinking._

Aramis knelt on the bed, straddling Porthos's legs. He raised Porthos's hips and drew down his breeches and linens, nipping his tongue and teeth across Porthos's buttocks. Porthos arched. Aramis ran his tongue down between Porthos's legs, pressing gently. Porthos groaned, half turned towards Aramis, and muffled a cry of pain.

_That won't do._

Aramis stood. He slid Porthos's breeches and linens down his legs and over his feet, and dropped them to the floor. Porthos attempted to roll over, wincing as he turned. Aramis caught his arms and held him back. Porthos glared at him.

"I'm not crippled."

_You might be if you keep splitting my needlework._

Aramis leant over Porthos, pinned him by pressing his mouth to Porthos's nape, and planted kisses the length of his spine. He darted sideways looks around the room as he went. No convenient supplies of rope. Plenty of belts, though...

He settled on three of their belts plus his blue sash to tie Porthos's ankles and wrists firmly to the bedposts, arms and legs spread wide. He ran his hands up Porthos's back, and buried them in Porthos's hair.

"Hardly fair," Porthos said, eyeing Aramis's fully-clothed form.

Aramis undid his breeches and released his cock. Porthos's breathing hitched. Aramis licked his palm and took himself in hand, luxuriating in the sight of his friend naked, spreadeagled and restrained. A tremor ran through Porthos's body. 

_Do you know what I'm thinking now?_

Porthos flashed a wide smile. "Quick and hard," he requested, voice deep.

_I guess you do._

Aramis reached for the bottle of olive oil Porthos kept under his bed. He knelt on the bed between Porthos's legs, oiled his thumb, and pressed it against Porthos. He circled the opening. Porthos pushed back, lifting himself the couple of inches his restraints allowed. Aramis pushed his thumb inside, stretching, winning a gasp and a moan from Porthos. There were urgent words in the moan -- cock, inside, now. Aramis pretended he hadn't heard. He bore down with his thumb and spread his legs wider to rub his battered leather breeches along the softness of Porthos's inner thighs. 

"Your cock," Porthos said -- commanding, not begging. "Inside me. Now."

Aramis slicked his cock with oil. He withdrew his thumb and stretched out over Porthos, his chest and stomach to Porthos's back, staying well away from Porthos's wound, careful to keep his weight on his hands and off Porthos. He lined his cock up and, slowly, pushed in. Porthos panted, urging him on between shaky breaths.

_This._

_I know the words for this._

"I'm starting slowly," he whispered into Porthos's ear. Porthos jerked at the sound. "It takes a while to get used to it."

Aramis slid back; inched forward. The tightness around his cock threatened to overwhelm him. He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, its metallic taste spreading across his tongue.

"Harder," Porthos said.

"It's best to ease in." Aramis swivelled his hips, whimpering at the sensation. Porthos quivered under him. Aramis moved into a gentle rocking motion, pushing deeper with each stroke. "Get the rhythm right before speeding up."

He thrust deep, increased his speed until Porthos's moans turned into _yes yes yes_. He pushed Porthos against the bed, feeling him rut into the mattress. Porthos gasped and released, clenching around Aramis's cock. Dizziness and heat spread through Aramis. He came inside Porthos, crying his lover's name. His arms shook. He pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Porthos, both of them slippery with sweat. Porthos made contented noises. Aramis unstrapped him and nuzzled into his side.

They breathed together, slipping into sleep. Aramis's last coherent thought was a memory of Porthos's laughter and a prayer it wouldn't be long before Porthos felt able to laugh again.


End file.
